The Lords Of The Crimson River

Chapter 23

At the same time as Ney's Marshal was approaching Blade, Marshal Alsin was leading out the forces of Nainan, Gualdar, and Skandra a hundred miles away. Between them, Blade and Alsin cleared the Duchies of King Fedron's bands of raiders. In two weeks, the last of them was on its way toward the passes, harried by vengeful Lords and even by some peasants. Apparently Blade wasn't the only Lord along the Crimson River who had looked the other way while the unlordly armed themselves.

The victory was expensive; it did not touch the heart of King Fedron's main army, and it came too late for many people. Among these was Romiss the Breeder. A band of raiders captured him while he was visiting a friend in the village near his castle. They took him to the castle and threatened to torture him to death if the men inside did not open the gates.

«Don't give these swine a thing!» Romiss shouted, before he was silenced.

Romiss's men were accustomed to obeying his orders and did not open the gates. Instead they watched as the Breeder was blinded, then castrated, then burned with hot irons. After that, Alsin rode up and scattered the raiders, in time to save the castle, but too late to do anything for Romiss except give him a quick death.

«No man in all the Duchies died a more lordly death,» said Alsin when Blade rode back to Castle Ranit and heard the news. «The men of the castle have asked for arms, in order to defend it if there is another attack.»

«There will be,» said Blade. «And this time from Fedron's whole army.»

«I know.» Alsin seemed unwilling to look at Blade. «So I have given them arms, to use within the castle itself. No sane Lord can say I should leave them helpless, to die like Romiss!»

«No.» So Romiss was dead, and all the secrets of the origins of the Feathered Ones were gone with him. But right now this seemed like a small detail to Blade, who excused himself and went up to see Miera.

She was barely conscious, not even enough to recognize him, and after a few minutes, she slipped back into sleep. Blade sat by the bed until Sarylla came and led him away for a drink. She looked almost as bad as her patient by now-gaunt, red-eyed, her glossy black hair faded and hanging in strings.

Now bad news and good news followed each other in swift succession. First they heard that Chenosh had signed an alliance with King Handryg of the West Kingdom. Next they heard that King Fedron was preparing to invade with his main army. Then they heard that Chenosh was returning, bringing some of Handryg's Lords with him, to wait until King Handryg himself arrived with the rest of his army and supply wagons. Finally, they heard on the same day that King Fedron's army had crossed the border and that Miera was showing signs of pneumonia. A few moments later, the girl was fighting for her life, while the King's army was marching straight on the Duchy of Nainan.

After they learned of Fedron's proximity, everyone was too busy preparing Castle Ranit to stand a siege and serve as a base for the army of the Duchies to sympathize with Blade. But he did not miss the sympathy. In his present mood, he was glad to be left alone.

It was going to be a cloudy day, so they wouldn't have to fight in a blazing sun. Blade was glad of that. He didn't find much else to be glad about.

As he was riding down the line of the Duchies' army to his place on the left wing, a thought struck him. Here he was in a scene that came straight out of the pages of a medieval romance. He was a valiant knight going into battle, prepared to do mighty deeds of valor almost under the walls of the castle where his fair lady waited.

Very pretty. Except that he didn't feel valiant; he felt tired and angry. Any deeds he did today would serve mostly to save his own life and those of the men around him from a ruthless enemy. And his fair lady was a shrunken, doll-like figure in a great bed, unconscious, gasping for each breath, and unlikely to live through the day.

He swung his long-handled mace through the air until it hummed. He was in a thoroughly bloodthirsty mood. With half his mind he remembered that this might make him careless. With the other half he hoped it would make him a better fighter.

He reined in on the extreme left flank of the army. There were five thousand Lords, drawn up on horseback and on foot, with two thousand Helpers guarding the horses and baggage. It was the largest army ever raised along the Crimson River and included fighters from every Duchy except Faissa. There were too few trustworthy men from the late Duke Klaman's army still in shape to fight.

They faced an opponent who outnumbered them almost two to one. King Fedron had six thousand Lords on the field, five thousand mounted infantrymen with pikes, and a thousand odds and ends to guard his baggage. Individually, his men weren't as tough as the Lords of the Crimson River, but they had discipline to add to their edge in numbers.

If only King Handryg's army had come! But there was no sign that King Handryg or his army even existed, except for the two hundred Lords he'd sent on ahead. Blade could see their banners near Chenosh's. King Handryg was bringing a ponderous train of wagons loaded with supplies, and they were slowing his march to a crawl. The supplies made sense, if Handryg expected a long war. But if only he had come fast enough to be here today and guarantee victory, he wouldn't have to worry about a long war!

Was Handryg planning to let the two armies tear each other to pieces and then rule the whole Dimension himself? His reputation made this seem unlikely, but not impossible.

Trumpets and drums sounded, and a column of pikemen thrust itself out from the Eastern lines. They marched with an impressively steady tread, chanting as they came. Blade called one of the Helpers over, then scratched Cheeky's back and handed him down to the young man. A battle on this scale was no place for a feather-monkey, even Cheeky, who was as tough as a Feathered One could be. The creature was the one friend Blade had in this Dimension that he could try to keep safe from today's battle.

Cheeky's yeeeep of protest was lost in the din as the pikemen reached the Duchies' lines. They struck close to Duke Padro's banner, and for a moment Blade saw it wavering. Then it steadied, and he saw the towering figures of Padro's bodyguards taking their place around the banner bearer. Even at this distance, they loomed over the men around them.

Blade quickly saw that their strength wasn't going to be sufficient. The pikemen were pressing forward, driving a steel-tipped wedge into Padro's ranks. From among the pikes, swordsmen darted forward, stabbing at faces or chinks in armor with their short thrusting weapons. The swordsmen wore little armor, but against Lords who didn't have room to use their weapons freely they didn't need much.

When Blade saw that the Helper who was carrying Cheeky was out of the way, he signaled to his trumpeter. The trumpet's call gathered up Blade's Guardsmen and urged them forward after him at a trot. They curled around Padro's rear and plunged into the dust cloud rising from the front lines. The sun wasn't out, but there'd been no rain for many days. The ground was powder dry.

Once inside the dust cloud, it was every man for himself. Blade controlled his horse with his knees as he fended off pike thrusts with his shield, and splintered pike shafts and crushed skulls with his mace. A swordsman darted forward, stabbing at the belly of Blade's horse, but it was well trained. It snapped its teeth in the swordsman's face, and he jumped back. Before he could close again, one of Padro's courtiers hacked off his sword arm with a battle-ax, and Blade's mace came down on his head. He fell into the dust, which was now turning into a red mud, where dying men wallowed and screamed under the trampling of men and horses.

After a while, the trumpets and drums sounded again, the swordsmen ran back under the protection of the pikes, and the pikemen themselves withdrew. Duke Padro's banner was still standing, but the Duke himself was being carried away by the only four of his bodyguards who remained on their feet. His olive complexion was now ashen and gray from the loss of blood that followed half a dozen wounds. However he had lived, Blade hoped it would be remembered that Padro of Gualdar died like a warrior and a man.

So the battle went all morning. The Eastern pikemen would advance, the swordsmen would leap into battle, and men would die thick and fast. But the pikemen never broke through the Duchies' lines. Though they always caused many casualties, they withdrew before they suffered nearly as many themselves. They were slowly but surely whittling down the Duchies' strength, and meanwhile the Eastern cavalry was still almost intact. When the two mounted forces did meet, each Lord of the Crimson River was worth two of his opponents. They didn't meet often.

Slowly the battle took the shape of a U, with the sides formed by the Eastern cavalry and the bottom formed by their infantry. The Duchies' army was inside the U, with only the top as a way out. Blade suspected that King Fedron could close that escape route any time he wanted to if he threw in the last of his cavalry. That he was still keeping it out of the fight suggested that he too was wondering where King Handryg might be.

More attacks, more dead, and now men on both sides were falling from thirst, exhaustion, and the inhalation of too much dust. Blade scraped crusted human remains off his mace with his dagger, drank some water, and led his Guardsmen back into the fight. In places he felt as if he were riding through a London fog, except that he'd never heard so many screams of men and horses and so much clashing steel on the streets of London. He'd never been so hot or thirsty in London, either.

What must have been at least the twentieth attack faded away. Blade heard trumpets with a new note in them and, moments later, wild cheering. He looked to the rear and saw two massive columns of horsemen approaching. The banners of the West Kingdom floated from jeweled staffs, which sparkled even through the dust.

King Handryg was coming, at last. Now the battle could not be lost, although it might take a good deal more fighting to win it. Blade wished he could feel better, but he was too thirsty and too aware of how many things could still go wrong. He was also a little too cynical about the ability of the Lords of the Crimson River to win a victory if there was no «honor» in it.

The horsemen divided, passing to the right and left of the embattled armies. To the right went six or seven thousand Lords. To the left went more than two thousand men mounted on small horses and carrying pikes or spears, with leather-wrapped bundles on their backs. More mounted infantry, Blade guessed. He wondered why they were riding so far out to the left. They'd be out of reach of any help if Fedron decided to attack them.

Then it was as if someone waved a magic wand over the two thousand. Most of them leaped from their saddles, then thrust their spears into the ground. As the horse holders moved off, the men on the ground planted an impenetrable hedge of jutting spears in front of them. Then they unslung the bundles from their backs and unwrapped them. Now, in the hands of each one of fifteen hundred men gleamed a crossbow.

A terrible silence descended on the battlefield, as everyone seemed to hold his breath. Blade knew what had to be coming next; he wondered how many others did.

It came. Fifteen hundred archers cocked their bows, dropped bolts into place, lifted them, and shot. Bolts poured down like hail, onto the mounted Lords of the East Kingdom.

Each of the archers must have picked a target, and most of them were good shots. A thousand bolts must have found targets in men or horses and all the horses and most of the men seemed to be screaming at once. Gone was the silence, and what replaced it sounded like the end of the world. In the uproar Blade also heard curses and cries of horror from the Duchies' ranks. The sight of men, even enemies, dying in such an unlordly fashion was more than they could bear in silence.

Certainly this was nearly the end of the battle. As the archers shot again, the Lords of the West on the other flank charged. It was a wild, disorderly charge, and for a while it only kicked up dust. Before the dust grew too thick, though, Blade saw Lords of the East begin to turn their horses. They'd already lost their chances of an easy victory. Now they faced a good chance of a messy, unlordly death. Whatever loyalty they owed their King wasn't enough to make them hold still for that.

At the bottom of the U, Fedron's banner still rose behind his pikemen. He was trying to rally them. Blade was willing to leave that part of the fight to stronger men on fresher horses. He led his Guardsmen back toward the baggage and the water.

By now the shock of seeing Lords struck down by archers was wearing off. Everyone who still had a voice seemed to be expressing an opinion. Most of the opinions were what Blade expected.

«Unlordly!»

«Lawless!»

«An abomination!»

«The Fathers will not bless a victory won this way!»

«We fought properly, at least.»

«Yes, but we can't allow ourselves-to gain by the victory, or-«

And then an exchange which froze Blade in his saddle:

«At least King Fedron fought a lordly battle.»

«Yes. If we are to have a King, let it be Fedron. I'll swear no oath to Handryg.»

«My steel on that!»

«Yes, and my steel for anyone who says a word for Handryg. That-«

Blade's first impulse was to splatter the brains of those two idiots with his mace. Then he realized that they probably had no brains, only firm prejudices, probably shared by many of their fellow Lords. Prejudices enough to create two factions in the Duchies: those who wanted to swear allegiance to King Handryg and those who preferred King Fedron. Only a miracle would keep the two factions from coming to blows. Then there would be war all over again along the Crimson River, a civil war likely to go on until the land was a barren waste. All the deaths Blade had seen since he reached this Dimension would be wasted, and thousands more would die.

Such a thought would have paralyzed most men. It made Blade think and move faster than usual, even after a long day of battle. If King Fedron is dead, nobody is going to be swearing anything to him. Then he looked down the battle field to where the East Kingdom's banner still waved, and dug in his spurs.

As his horse gathered speed, Blade passed close to the Helper who held Cheeky. With an eager cry the Feathered One hurled himself through the air, landing on the head of Blade's mount. The horse shied and Blade reached down, meaning to pluck Cheeky loose and toss him back to safety. But Cheeky refused to budge, clinging to the horse's ears until the animal started to rear.

All right, thought Blade. You, too, have more courage than sense.

The legends of later years said that the ranks of the enemy gave way before Lord Blade Duke-Slayer as if by magic. Some stories said that the look in his eyes turned men to stone, or at least made them drop their weapons. He certainly looked dangerous enough, but the fact was that the East Kingdom's pikemen were already breaking ranks when he rode up. He had to be careful not to step on bodies or press too closely against men already turning to run, but he wasn't in much danger from the men on foot.

The mounted Lords around Fedron might well have been another matter, but as Blade approached them, Alsin ordered a general attack. He'd seen Blade ride into the ranks of the enemy. Even if Blade was determined to die, honor required the men of Nainan to try to save him. And then again, if he, Alsin, didn't lead the attack, Chenosh would, and if Chenosh died, Alsin didn't even want to think about what might happen.

So he attacked, and King Fedron sent his bodyguards forward to help the pikemen. The Eastern king was almost alone when Blade rode up to him. He was not turned to stone, though, and he didn't drop his sword. He was a warrior to the last, and he nearly killed his opponent.

The two men circled each other on horseback, mace and sword crashing against shields. On the fourth stroke the sword split Blade's battered shield and numbed his left arm. Fedron drove his horse in close and his own mount snapped at Blade's thigh. Blade felt the teeth dent his flesh through the mail.

Then Cheeky leaped to his master's defense, hurling himself onto the head of Fedron's mount. He covered the horse's eyes, and it reared in panic. Fedron was offbalance, and a sword stroke intended to split his enemy's head only cut the air. Blade swung his mace and caught the King in the chest, as his horse reared again and threw him backward. The combined force of horse and mace was too much. Fedron went backward out of the saddle with a scream. Before he could struggle to his feet, his bodyguards broke under Alsin's charge. So King Fedron died-under the hooves of his own fleeing bodyguards.

Blade didn't wait to help identify the battered royal corpse. With Cheeky on his shoulder, he rode back through the Duchies' army, ignoring the cheers. He rode straight to Castle Ranit, then went up to the room in the keep where his wife lay.

He did not leave it or speak to anyone there until Miera died just before sunset.